


No Time Like The Present

by FOREVER_SHERLOCKED



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, F/M, Molly Hooper Loves Sherlock Holmes, Molly's gift, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship, Sherlock Holmes Loves Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, Sherlolly - Freeform, sherlock and molly start fresh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28979052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FOREVER_SHERLOCKED/pseuds/FOREVER_SHERLOCKED
Summary: Sherlock returns to a demolished Baker Street, post-explosion, and goes through some rubble before anyone else steps foot in the place. What he finds will stir up some good and bad nostalgia and change the course of his life yet again, in the best way possible.TFP theory of mine that inspired this fic: https://forever-sherlollied.tumblr.com/post/640958207505858560/another-tfp-thought-quirk-94th-watch
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	No Time Like The Present

Today Sherlock had been forced to do something he usually hated doing: shopping. He hadn’t been back to Baker Street since the explosion a couple of days ago, and he desperately needed something else to wear, as the laundry fees at the hotel he is staying at are ridiculously pricey. After gathering all the clothing he had estimated he would need, he had returned to his hotel room and entered his mind palace for the remainder of the daylight hours. Meticulously going through every detail from Sherrinford, about his sister, about Victor Trevor, and everything else he had dug up while going through that horrible ordeal, it nearly makes him feel as out of control as he did when he was there in the flesh.

Sherlock had elected not to stay with John. First and foremost because he has a small child that would need quiet at all hours of the night when Sherlock likes to pace or play the violin, and secondly because John’s home reminds him too much of Mary and all of the pain and guilt that goes with thinking about his late, beloved friend. Mrs. Hudson had relocated to her sister’s home during renovations and Lestrade has a bachelor pad filled with children’s belonging for when he has visitation from his kids. Something Sherlock wouldn’t very much like to interfere with either. The only other person left of his friend list would be Molly Hooper, and well...that needs to settle, for the both of them. They had agreed the night after Sherrinford when he had visited to really explain the situation, that time is everything.

As he stares at the blank, stark white ceiling of his hotel room, he begins to feel a bit stir crazy, despite the fact that he hasn’t slept well in days. Popping off of the bed, he decides to walk to Baker Street to assess the damage himself, having not even seen it except for the news stories. It’s a wonder that both he and John had escaped with only a few cuts from the windows’ broken glass. Grabbing his mobile and pocketing it in his brand-new trousers, then slipping his Belstaff on, he heads to the lobby and out the doors, hailing a cab. Luckily, one pulls up fairly quickly.

~~~~~~~

Sherlock lets out an exhausted sigh as he shoves overturned furniture and ashen wallpaper away from the entrance of 221B. It’s the first time he had been back since Eurus had blown it to smithereens. He was planning to come over and look over the place tomorrow with John, and honestly, it would take days or weeks to clean up the whole of it, but he just had to see with his own eyes.

Though the room is dark and dreary, the moonlight still pools in through the shattered windows. Sherlock rubs his face, peering through all of the things that cluttered the room. When everything was in its place, Baker Street never seemed this full. But now that everything is out in the open, laid bare and scattered around the entire flat, it seems too cluttered.

With every step of his foot, he hears the crunching of papers, the splintering of wood, or the clinking of broken glass. The first thing that catches his eye is the “Mr. Blue Skull” painting by artist John Pinkerton, which usually adorned the wall to the right of the front entrance of 221B. Stepping cautiously across to it, he picks it up and blows the wall dust and ash off of it. Luckily, it hadn’t been burned or torn. Sherlock places it carefully on the top of the soot-covered sofa.

Glancing towards the kitchen, he audibly groans and cringes. All of his scientific beakers and lab equipment are shattered, and the entire room looks unsalvageable. “At least Mrs. Hudson can update the appliances with the insurance money”, he thinks to himself. Nudging things over with his feet, he looks for anything else of remote value to him that is unscathed. Removing a burnt newspaper, he sees “Billy”, his old skull. Ever since even before John or Molly, he had kept Billy in all of his flats to remind him to be human once in a while. To be cognizant of, if not influenced by his flaws. It had been a gift that he had been given in childhood and was his most prized possession.

After re-learning about Victor Trevor, his best friend that had been murdered by his sister, Sherlock had remembered that Victor was the one who had given the skull to him for one of his birthdays in elementary school. They had both been heavily obsessed with pirates and pirate stories, and he remembers Victor being just giddy when the day had come to give Sherlock his gift. He had called it a pirate skull.

Once those memories had flooded back to him, he had remembered why Billy the Skull was so special to him. It literally represented his emotions, his kindness, his innocence. It represented the little Billy that his mother used to scold about scraping up his knees and dirtying his new trousers, back before first grade, when he had proudly recited to his brand-new school friend, Victor Dominic Trevor, his full name, and Victor had responded, claiming that the name Sherlock was really cool and sounded more like a pirate’s name than Billy was. Ever since that day, he had demanded his family call him Sherlock instead.

When the time had come to invite Victor over for playdates at Musgrave Hall, they had a hell of a time. Two of the most explorative, curious little boys in all the world. When the sun would shine, Victor was hard to miss with his bright red hair and darkened freckles, and when the clouds were out and the dreariness of the fall took over, Mummy would always make Sherlock wear his yellow “Charlie Brown-like” sweater. Hence, their new pirate nicknames were chosen. Yellowbeard and Redbeard, for all eternity. Or at least what eternity was to six-year-olds.

Sherlock can hear his breath shaking a bit as he places the skull back in its rightful place on the edge of the mantle. He is still exhausted from Sherrinford a few days ago, from drowning in his emotions with Molly, who had reluctantly forgiven him, and from the horribly lumpy mattress at the hotel he was staying in.

Oh, Molly…he was so terrified he had lost her for good. But like the unending beacon of kindness and light that she is, she had listened. Really listened. At least once she had let out all of her anger and frustration at him as she nevertheless let him into her home, which he rightfully deserved. Once the story was over, they had held each other silently in sadness. She felt terrible for being so outwardly critical and harsh to him at first before she knew the whole story, and he had felt terrible when he had told her that she should have known it was true long before that moment ever happened. Before she ever could or should have questioned the legitimacy of those three, critical little words. Then he had given her the gold plaque and they shared a very light and chaste peck on the lips. It was then, as he closed her fingers over the shining plaque, and looked into her eyes, that he knew all was forgiven and that they would be okay. 

They had cried their grievances and buried their hatchets together, promising to start anew, to draw a blank slate and start over properly. For that to happen, Sherlock had promised her some space and time, because regardless of her lovingness, he knew that he at least owed her that.

Sherlock shuffles through the sitting room for a while longer, picking up papers, trinkets, his broken laptop, and other random objects until it became too dark to see enough not to cut himself on broken shards of glass from the shattered mirror, or splinters of wood from the cracked mantle. “Great, another seven years of bad luck, just what I need”, he quips out loud, sighing heavily and running his hands through his curls.

Stepping over the rest of the junk on the floor with reckless abandon, each step loud and crunching, he steps into the hallway and cautiously approaches his bedroom. He knows the blast had mainly hit the main areas, but as it was very powerful, the bathroom and his bedroom could very well be in complete disarray from the power of it. Mycroft did warn them about the large blast radius.

Sherlock slips his mobile out of his pocket and turns the flashlight on as he approaches his bedroom. The door was in fact, splintered and ajar. He could see his dresser completely toppled over in front of it. Sneaking past the door and climbing over his dresser, he looks around the rest of the room with his small phone flashlight. His nightstand had also been tipped over, and the many encased scientific decorations that were on his walls had crashed to the floor. Even his periodic table is hanging down on one side. At least his bed was still in place if he had the urge to still sleep here, despite the freezing cold from the blown-out windows in the sitting room.

Setting his phone down for a moment, he hauls his nightstand back onto its feet, sliding the drawers back into place. Unfortunately, everything had spilled out onto the floor. Though, if he remembered correctly, there wasn’t much in those drawers except for legal paperwork, such as the rent agreement, signed promises from Mycroft (yes, he is that petty), and paperwork showing his right to access certain areas of Bart’s and NSY. Also a few nicked security badges of Mycroft’s and Lestrade’s for when the need suits him.

Grabbing his mobile yet again, he shines the light down unto the pile of papers and name badges. That’s when a glimmer of red foil catches his eye, and he furrows his brow. “What could that be?”, he wonders.

Reaching down and pulling the shiny, red thing from underneath the pile, the recognition dawns on him and his eyes widen.

It’s Molly’s gift. The Christmas gift that she had given him all those years ago when he was only interested in the Blackberry from The Woman. The gift that he had disparaged her for. The gift that he must have thrown in his drawer that night for later and completely forgotten about. The gift was still perfectly wrapped in shiny, cheerful, cherry red foil. The same color red as her soft lips were that night. The color red perfectly contrasted the silver glimmering bow she had worn in her hair, dressed as if she were his personal gift. Little did he know at the time, but she was, and still is. He would not be alive today if it weren’t for Molly Hooper.

He almost doesn’t want to open it, to disturb the beauty of it. The perfectly clear tape that she used, still untainted, and the sturdy golden bow she had adorned it with, still entwining the rectangular box. However, curiosity gets the better of him.

Slipping the bow from the box, he strokes over it carefully, almost reminiscent of when he had stroked over her coffin, encircling the “I Love You” upon it. The decorative swirls on the red foil glitter with movement in the light of his mobile. Taking the plunge and finally tearing into it, he comes upon a black rectangular box with a golden-hued lid. Slowly slipping the lid off, his jaw drops at what sits comfortably inside, still in peak condition.

Inside is a beautiful Garrick England ‘Norfolk’ watch, with a stark white face and a black genuine leather strap. It’s a gorgeous timepiece, and one of the higher-end pieces you can get in England. Sherlock’s mind takes him back to the second year he had known Molly. He remembers coming back from Florida after ensuring the execution of one Mr. Timothy Hudson and Mrs. Hudson had paid him quite handsomely. It was more money than he had ever seen, and it being his first high profile case, he had purchased a watch for himself to celebrate. However, it was a cheaper one that he had bought at an antique shop and over the years the faux leather had crackled, and the face had lost its luster.

Molly had noticed this on Thanksgiving of 2011 when she had yet again graced him with her presence in the lab for a case where he needed an extra set of hands for forensics. She had warned him that the chemicals may damage his watch and that he should take it off, but he was quick to comment, telling her that its days were quite limited anyway. That’s when she had smiled her beautifully sweet smile and told him how she recalled how happy he was when he had bought it, being proud of his first high-profile case, and of himself.

Never in a million years would he have thought that she would get him such an expensive gift, never mind a genuinely perfect and incredible one. He should have supposed that it would be a thoughtful one, as Molly is nothing if not thoughtful, but this?

Nearly six years later and it’s still perfect and still takes his breath away. Sherlock’s eyes slip closed, the horrid feeling of sadness and guilt overcoming him again. He should have opened it the second she had given it to him, or at least in his bedroom. He should have seen it, should have thanked her profusely. In retrospect, he should have given her a proper apology as well, because he doesn’t deserve it for everything he had done to her back then and since.

Sherlock strokes his thumb over the smooth feel of the leather strap, wanting to slip it on, but knowing that he can’t. He would be the biggest asshole in the entirety of the world if he decided to wear it now after all these years and without explanation or gratitude.

Placing the lid back on the box, he grabs his mobile and stands, slipping it into his Belstaff pocket. Despite promising her time and space, Sherlock knows what he must do, and he must do it right this instant.

~~~~~~~

Sherlock paces softly in front of Molly’s sunny yellow front door, emblazoned with the number “3”. He had always found it amusingly fitting that Molly lived on Sunflower Lane. He had always found her to be bright and cheery, despite her more morbidity-prone nature. Knocking four times, yes four, so that she knows it’s him, he waits. And waits. And waits.

Knocking again, he begins to worry, though maybe he had just woken her up since it is nearly 2:00 am. Suddenly the door swings open and Molly stands there, clad in her robe, slippers, and glasses. She groans a bit at the sight of him.

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into now, Sherlock?”

“Can I come in?”

“Ugh…yeah fine. Make it quick.”

Sherlock steps into her home, closing the door softly behind him. He swallows the lump in his throat, a bit unsure how to start.

“Well? I was sleeping, you know.”

“Right. Yeah, I-…I’m sorry about that. Look, I just wanted to see you and it couldn’t wait.”

Blushing slightly, she shrugs and tugs him into the sitting room, sitting on the sofa. “Alright, well…what is it?”

He lowers himself onto the sofa and sighs, fidgeting with his hands. “I went over to Baker Street because I couldn’t sleep, y’know…and um, well I wanted to assess the damage and maybe at least tidy up the large furniture that had been moved.”

“Okay…and?”

He sighs deeply and slowly. “And…I’m a complete and utter cock. Because I found something, and I hate myself for never remembering and for forgetting when it should have been very important to me…”

“Sherlock…what should have?”

Looking into her eyes, he takes her hand gently. “I don’t deserve it anymore…I never did. So I needed to give it back to you because I’m…I have been so ignorant. I am at a loss of what to call myself because there are no words to describe how horrible of a friend I have been to you throughout the years. I know that you know I am sorry and that you have forgiven me, but I also know that words are never quite enough. Especially in my case. Molly, you are one of my oldest and dearest friends. I need you to know that. I have always known it, but I have not always acted that way. I have acted terribly to you, and you never deserved that. I meant it before when I told you that you deserve the best.”

“Sherlock I…I don’t understand. You know that we’re okay now. We’ve been through some shit, but…I know you have on your own too. I meant it when I said we could start fresh.”

“No, I know that. I know you did.” He swallows hard and looks down. “Right then…” Sherlock slips the small box out of his pocket and presents it to her. “I just found this tonight at Baker Street. Although it didn’t look like this. It was…all dressed up. In red foil and...and a golden bow.”

Molly’s furrowed brow slowly releases, realizing what he means. “Oh”, she whispers. Sherlock can see the hurt in her eyes, and he assumes she had always wondered about it.

“It’s been…god…nearly six years since that Christmas and…it completely must have slipped my mind, which is no excuse. It shouldn’t have. I should not have put it in a drawer…I should have opened it right then. I am such a fool.”

Tears come to Molly’s eyes and she looks away from him. He knows how much she hates feeling vulnerable with him because of his horrid past regarding her. Sherlock gently cups her chin in one of his large hands and looks into her eyes.

“Molly, you have no idea how perfect this gift was, and still is. I never deserved such an incredible item from you. I still don’t. Therefore it hardly feels right or fair to keep it after all this time. I’ve given up my right to own it.” Gently letting go of her chin, he places it on her lap. “I never deserved you either, but yet I can’t think of my life without you in it. However evil my sister may seem, she at least made me realize that. That moment that I honestly thought that you would be gone…”, he trails off, his voice shaking.

Molly sniffs and throws her arms around him gently, hugging him warmly. Sherlock stiffens for a moment then slowly relaxes into her, his body weary and achy from the last few days.

“Molly, the last thing I deserve is your generosity…” he mumbles weakly as he snakes his arms around her middle, returning the hug.

She closes her eyes, unwavering from the hug. “That’s untrue. However awful life can get, no matter who you are, no matter your mistakes, everybody needs someone they can hug sometimes. You may be strong, resilient, intelligent, but you’re still human. After hearing all about Sherrinford, I can’t imagine how you can even begin to process all of that. How scary all those resurfacing memories must be, along with the utter lack of control over the loss of them. Not to mention the losses themselves, and all that time. Time where you should have known the truth. You must feel really out of place and unsure of yourself. I can see it in your eyes…and I know how that feels.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and relishes in the feel of her warmth, his body, and mind craving the type of closeness she is willing to give. Being in her arms feels comforting, and secure. It washes away all of the tension and self-hatred that runs through his thoughts and his veins. It curbs the craving for anything stronger, even for the moment. It had taken every single speck of willpower inside of his grief-wrought body not to turn down the alley towards Wiggins’ hot spot. And now, being in Molly’s arms, it chokes the temptation for even the moment.

Molly gently rubs his back, the weight of his drooping body a telltale sign of a man who has been through the worst the world has to offer. The fact that he was still standing a moment ago astounds her. She can feel him trembling just the slightest bit, whether it be from lack of sleep, fatigue, grief, emotional overhaul, or craving. Probably a mix of all of those, unfortunately.

“Sherlock…we said we were starting new, hm?” Molly pulls back to look into his eyes again, and he nods weakly. “So you know I forgive you. I know you’ve been through an ordeal too.” Picking up the box from the sofa; she places it back into his hands. “I’ll admit, I’m a bit saddened about it, but we are in a better place now. That being said, I still want you to have it. Let it be a reminder of our friendship if nothing else. I want you to keep it.”

He looks at her with puppy dog eyes and gently holds the box. “Are…are you positive? It's too much, it’s…it’s too nice.”

“I’m positive. Please, keep it.”

“Alright…” Sherlock looks at her wearily then opens the box, taking out the watch and carefully placing it on his wrist. He has a bit of trouble clasping it himself, so she helps him.

“It’s perfect”, they exclaim in unison. Molly giggles softly and Sherlock smiles gently. Sherlock initiates another hug and Molly accepts it.

“Molly, I’ll wear this watch as often as possible, with the notion of knowing that it is a reminder of you and all that you mean to me. A reminder that in all my ignorance, I could have lost you. It will be a token of whatever humanity and love I have inside of me, and a glaring totem of curbing my ego. I promise.”

Smiling gently, she nods. “I think that’s a pretty good idea. A good start to our blank page.”

“Agreed.” With that, Sherlock stands weakly. Molly holds his arm gently.

“Sherlock…”, she sighs. “For God’s sake, you’ll never make it back to the hotel. Just…come to bed.”

He raises an eyebrow and gives her a playful, yet teasing look.

“You know what I mean!”, she rolls her eyes and slaps his arm playfully. “You’re exhausted. It’s not like you haven’t slept in my bed before anyway.”

“Well, that’s true. I humbly accept.”

“Good. I think you left some pajamas here for emergencies anyway, seeing as my house is apparently one of your favorite bolt holes for some reason.”

“A good reason, I’ll add. While it may be a little too sterile and tidy, it does have you.”

Molly flushes pink and tosses his pj’s at him. “Oi, go change!”

Sherlock grins and goes to the bathroom, quickly changing and folding his clothes for the morning. Crossing the hall into her bedroom, he closes the door and sets his mobile on the unused right side night table, and crawls under the blankets, letting out a deep sigh of comfort. “Thank you, Molly. Your bed is by far the coziest.”

She smiles to herself in the darkness, tempted so much to back up just slightly so their backs lay against one another. “You’re welcome. Just know that if you snore or steal my covers, you’ll end up on the carpet.”

Sherlock chuckles his deep, genuine chuckle. “Yes ma’am. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Sherlock. Sleep well.”

~~~~~~~

Molly slowly slips back into consciousness the next morning, her mind foggy and her body still tired. As her senses wake up and her eyes flutter open, she quickly realizes that she is staring into a white abyss. Not just a white abyss, but a bright white t-shirt. Not anybody’s t-shirt either…Sherlock Holmes’s t-shirt. Molly quickly stiffens, unable to move without disturbing him, as his lanky arms are entwined around her petite body, holding her close to him, her face mere inches from his chest.

Breathing slowly and quietly, she lets herself relax in his arms, comforted by his warmth. Closing her eyes again, she allows herself for a brief moment to nuzzle her face carefully against his chest. As he begins to stir, she quickly pulls back as much as she could and screws her eyes shut.

Sherlock mumbles and stretches a bit by puffing his chest out, realizing there is weight against him, and opens his eyes to the sight of Molly Hooper curled up in his own arms. At first, he is shocked and wants to jump away as fast as he can, but he quickly realizes that it wouldn’t be the best thing to do at the moment. Plus, she feels so…warm. Not only that but it also feels so right, and so…perfect. It’s an extremely odd sensation for him to enjoy closeness, but this, with Molly, he is not awkward nor repulsed by it.

Clearing his throat a bit, he can see her eyes falsely closed. “Good morning.” Molly cautiously looks up at him and he can feel the air leave his lungs for a split second as he lays his own eyes on her brown ones, honey-stung by the sunlight.

“G-good morning.” Molly replies, then internally scolds herself for stuttering, as she thought that bad habit around him was gone years ago. But maybe it’s just the pure disheveled beauty of him in the break of dawn that gets to her, because hell, he’s gorgeous. Just as handsome as he is when he’s all dressed up in his suits. She can undoubtedly recognize that, despite a bit of sun in her eyes that pours through the curtain break.

The pair continue to stare at each other for what feels like a million burning moments until Sherlock wordlessly dips his head down ever so slightly, bringing them closer until they can feel the tip of each other’s nose tickling their own. In the next second, their soft lips are joined together in a gentle, yet searing kiss. Molly instinctually wraps her arms around his neck as he tightens his grip slightly on his middle with his arms.

The kiss turns into something more, intertwining limbs, heavy pants upon lips, and roaming hands from both parties. Molly gently cups his face, Sherlock’s eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of security from her hands.

“Sherlock?”, Molly whispers, nearly afraid to talk and ruin what they just had.

His eyes open again to look into hers, completely vulnerable and open, emotions swirling inside them as much as the kaleidoscope colors do. “I’m alright, I don’t regret anything, and I don’t want you to think for one second that I do, okay?”

A blush blooms on her cheeks, turning them the shade of pink that he had always secretly loved. She nods softly and places her forehead against his. “I must say though, this blank slate is already starting to look pretty colorful”, she giggles lightly. Sherlock chuckles a bit and smiles his genuine smile that she adores.

“It’s always been true…just as you said. It just took my psychopathic sister and a nudge from imminent doom for me to do something about it because I was never in tune to my emotions that way. But Molly, when I saw you on that screen, and I saw that coffin I-...”

“Shh...I know. I’m sorry you had to go through that at all. However, I’m glad that it allowed us to really sit and have a deep conversation about all the crap we have been avoiding saying for years. All the tension, the avoidance, the irritation...the...love...apparently. It was really good to just talk, to get all of it out in the open. I’m glad everything worked out and that we were able to start over. As angry and as hurt as I was, I completely understood your explanation and why you had to do it that way. I understood that we had to talk through everything, and I am really happy that we could put it all past us because, despite everything in our past, I would have truly hated to lose you from my life. Even as a friend. You bring a spark of adventure and curiosity to my dull life, and it’s something I had always looked forward to when you came into the lab or chose to depend on me for something important.”

“You were always my favorite bolt hole. Unfortunately, I was so stupid that I never stopped to ask myself why. It’s because you make me feel...well, you make me feel. In general, you make me free to express how I feel without judgment or worry. When I am around you, I feel safe, I feel secure, I feel...almost normal. And it was something that I came to crave because the solace of you and of your home allowed me to let my guard down. My guard is always up. It has to be. It comes with the dangerousness of not only my job but my life now too. But being here and being around you lets me breathe in ways I don’t think I have since I was a really young child. Since before Re-..Victor. So thank you for putting up with all of my shit, because you didn’t have to and you didn’t deserve to, Molly.”

Molly pulls him close, pressing a loving kiss against his lips again. When she goes to pull away, he gently cradles her face and pulls her back in, snogging her senseless. Moments later pajamas can be seen scattered along the floor and moans float through the air like the best melody, the first time of many that they get to indulge in one another the way they have always wanted.

~~~~~~~

The next day, the cleaning crew, John, and Sherlock all go to 221B to pick through the rubble in the daylight. The window repair has just been finished and Mrs. Hudson puts up new drapes. Sherlock feels especially invigorated today, if not a little bit tired, as he has yet to tell anyone about his newfound relationship with Molly. Once yesterday morning had happened, Sherlock had convinced Molly that he was willing to try at being a good partner to her. He had explained that he had always been jealous of her previous beaus and had even, maybe, possibly, had sabotaged a few of her dates. Of course, she had forgiven him after giving him a stern talking to about that, then happily accepted his offer.

Sherlock is thrilled to be carrying their secret around, at least for the day. It can be between the two of them for a little while until they decide to tell their friends. John asks him a few times if he is feeling alright, as he is acting a bit strange, but he insists that he is just fine.

Sherlock switches off with John holding and tending to Rosie and picking things out of the rubble. Mrs. Hudson offers for Rosie to take her nap down in her flat, as John had previously dropped off a spare crib there for emergencies. Once she is asleep, he re-joins Sherlock upstairs. They go through more of the rubble and find the cow’s skull. John smirks and holds it up. Sherlock chuckles and grabs the old headphones, placing them back onto the skull before they set it down.

Hours later, the place is looking more like itself. Especially after John resprays the smiley onto the wall and Sherlock shoots the signature bullet holes into it, though Mrs. Hudson wasn’t so thrilled with that.

That night, Sherlock had planned to take Molly out, and she was supposed to meet him at Baker Street for their casual dinner date at Angelo’s. He flops down tiredly into his chair and glances at his watch, fondly reminded of her. Seeing that her shift is over, and John and Rosie would be going home for their own dinner soon, he sees an unread text from her.

{Hey, I can’t wait to see you. xxxMolly}

Sherlock replies and smiles to himself. {You know where to find me. SH}

Later on that night, Sherlock finds himself back at Molly’s place, promising her that once 221B is finished, she can sleep over there as well. Molly grins happily and rubs his chest.

“I know you don’t consider yourself the domestic type, but I can see how much effort you are putting in, and I appreciate it. I just want you to know that. We don’t have to rush anything. I want you to always be comfortable with where we stand, Sherlock. I...I love you.”

Sherlock strokes her cheek tenderly and looks down at her. “I told you before that you deserved to be very happy. I plan on sticking to my word and making you so. I do need to adapt in some areas, and I am working on it, but I don’t mind putting in the effort because it’s for you. I have lost so many years with you for being foolish and selfish and I won’t let us lose another because of my downfalls. I love you, Molly Hooper. John was right. Romantic entanglement does complete me as a human being. But it only ever would have worked with you because you’re the woman who understands me. It had to be you. Plus, what other type of woman would be able to handle my cases, my experiments, and my goriness and all the morbid stuff I speak about and take home with me? Only you. Only an incredible woman who cuts up corpses for a living, has the darkest sense of humor I’ve ever known, and is the one supplying me with said body parts to experiment on.”

Molly giggles and nods. “Well, I suppose you have a point there. It’s actually quite funny how well we work together.”

“It’s perfect. We move on our own timeline, handle life in our own way, and that’s perfectly fine. Because it’s us. You and me, Molly. I need you to ground me the way you always have. I can’t believe I never saw the potential and the seamlessness of this before. I am so sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, remember? We decided to start fresh, and this is even better. So, we could sit and watch crap telly for the rest of the night…or…”

“Orrr…we could do some experiments of our own?”, Sherlock smirks, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Exactly”, Molly laughs. “You know a girl loves you when she buys a dress specifically to watch you take it off of her.”

“Oooh…I like your train of thought, Doctor Hooper.”

“And I quite like your hands, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock smirks and scoops her off her feet, sweeping her into her bedroom for the rest of the night.

~~~~~~~

Days later Sherlock had planned to visit Sherrinford to see Eurus. It’s the least he can do to keep the lion in the cage, so to speak. Before going, he puts on Molly’s favorite shirt; well, the close second, the teal one, as unfortunately the purple one was in the wash. He then puts on a bit of cologne and of course, the gorgeous watch she had gifted him all those years ago. There is not a day that goes by that he doesn’t wear it. Regardless of whether he is now in a relationship with Molly. It still serves as a reminder of her, and how much Sherlock Holmes needs that petite pathologist in his life to survive.

Baker Street will yet again be livable in another day or two, but for now, he had been staying with Molly at her home. He would never tell her, but her kitchen still gives him chills sometimes, the horrid thought of her being ripped from him that day, still haunting him. He had really begun to get used to the domesticity a bit. Of course, he had been taking a few smaller cases here and there while 221B is being renovated, to keep him sane. But being with Molly at night feels so right for him, especially making love to her. That’s something that Sherlock never thought would really affect him, even after knowing what it felt like. Now he knows that he was severely mistaken, and realizes that he is in fact, just a human man with a superior brain.

Once the helicopter lands, he takes out the security badge that was issued to him by Mycroft and makes his way down to Eurus’ cell with his violin case. Even though the entire Holmes family had planned on meeting there tomorrow to see him and Eurus play together, he figured that going by himself first would be a good idea. Especially if she is to deduce everything he had been through with Molly, as he believes she will be able to do.

Stepping out of the elevator, he slowly makes his way over to the glass. He can see her sitting on her bed quietly. He rolls the cuffs of his suit jacket just slightly, enough so that she can easily see his wrists and the beautiful pristine watch that sits atop the left one.

Eurus stands up and faces him silently, walking over to the glass in a calculating manner. Sherlock stands there stiffly, letting her look over him and make her deductions, quietly. He can see the moment where she notices the watch, and her eyes become trained on it for a moment. Her eyes snap back up to his and narrow a bit, just a hint of a knowing smirk on the corner of her lips. Sherlock leans down and takes his violin out of its case. It is the Stradivarius that she had gifted him during his first ordeal at the prison fortress.

Just as she picks up her own new violin and bow and Sherlock is about to start playing, Eurus speaks one singular word. “Molly”, she murmurs, staring right at him, then glancing at the watch.

Sherlock looks right back at her intensely, nodding sharply. “Yes. And if you ever even think of hurting her, physically, mentally, or any other which way again, I will cut you off forever. This is a compromise, Eurus. You are my sister and I care about you, but I will not hesitate to show you repercussions for your actions if you so much as look at her the wrong way. Is that understood?”

Eurus’ eyes sparkle mischievously and she nods very slowly, bringing the bow up to her violin. He does the same and they start to play, the music becoming completely in sync as the melody joins perfectly together, swirling around them, the echo of her cell making for a perfect effect.

They play for a few hours, Eurus still making deductions as she plays, a playful half-smile coming to her lips as she reads him like a tantalizing article. Once she finishes cataloging everything in her mind, she is satisfied with her findings and confirmed that are what she assumed from the gift on his wrist. The melodies continue until their arms tire. Sherlock packs away his violin and bow in the case carefully then straightens up again. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Mum and Dad and Mycroft will be here to see us play; it will be sometime in the afternoon. Baker Street should be livable again by tomorrow night...so...”, he trails off.

Eurus smirks devilishly and glances at the watch, nodding.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Trying it out...plus, it’s no secret to you that I’ve stayed at her place before. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gives her one last glance, and she smiles just the slightest bit as the elevator doors close.

~~~~~~~

Days later, 221B Baker Street is back to its functioning condition the way it was before, albeit less dusty to Mrs. Hudson’s glee. Sherlock and John are out most of the day on a very intriguing case. Luckily, it is Molly’s day off, and she was happy to watch Rosie for the day. It was agreed upon that Molly would meet them back at Baker Street around dinner time to bring Rosie back to her father.

Sherlock settles into his chair and John paces around, deciding to make some tea while they wait for Molly to show up with Rosie. She has been the most amazing godmother he and Mary could have ever asked for. Letting Rosie sleep over when the absolute need arises, buying a car seat for her car for when she needs to transport her places such as today, and overall just being an incredible maternal figure for her as she grows.

A moment later Sherlock hears the downstairs door creaking and closing, subsequent footsteps approaching up the stairwell. He grins to himself and pops out of his chair, strolling over to the door and opening it right when she gets to it before she can even knock. She stands there with Rosie on her hip and a diaper bag draped over her opposite shoulder. The perfect matronly figure.

“Oh! Sherlock, you startled me.”

“Sorry. I know your footsteps, though they do vary just slightly in weight and pace when you’re carrying Rosie. I figured I would get the door because I know she is getting heavy.”

Molly smiles softly. “Yes, thank you. Rosie, say hi to Uncle Sherlock!”

Rosie squeals happily and holds her chubby hands out to him. “Wock!!”

Sherlock chuckles at the little girl’s enthusiasm and eagerly takes her into his arms, raising her into the air as she giggles. “Little Miss Rosie Watson! How was your day today with Auntie Molly, hmm? Did you two girls have a good time?”

Rosie nods affirmatively and grins, turning her attention to John who had made a noise in the kitchen. “Dada!!”

Sherlock snorts and places her down on her feet. She clomps her way over to John as quickly as her tiny feet will take her in her new shoes. John scoops her up and places kisses on her cheeks. “Rosie! Hello, my sweet.”

Molly beams, turning her gaze to Sherlock, who looks just as happy in the moment. “How did your case go?”

“Wonderfully. Went off without a hitch, thankfully.”

“That’s good. The bad guy got caught then, I assume.”

“Of course. I’m not one for loose ends, now am I?”

“Not at all”, she smirks a bit.

John comes in with Rosie and smiles at her. “Thanks again, Molly. Rosie really loves spending time with you, you’re really good with her, and I really appreciate it.”

Molly fidgets with her fingers. “Oh, John, you know I love spending time with her. She’s so sweet. Any time you need me if I’m available. You know that.”

John smiles and nods. “Getting back in the dating game, yet? You’re still young, you have time to find someone. Maybe have one of your own someday. You’ve got a few good handful of years left you know. It’s not over yet.”

Molly’s face turns pink and her smile turns into a partial one, her nervous habit of chewing her lip when she feels awkward, coming to fruition. “Oh um...well...yes, I suppose you could say that. It’s just well...um...it’s very new. So I don’t really think talking about children is really in the cards for a long while. He has quite a demanding and er...dangerous job. So...”, she trails off, avoiding eye contact with Sherlock, almost afraid of what she’d see laying beneath the surface.

“Oh I dunno, Molly. Maybe he wouldn’t mind so much talking about it. Especially if he’s really into you. If he really knows you then I’m sure he already knew that you wanted children for a long while now”, Sherlock pipes up, getting a bit irritated by the context of hypotheticals in the room.

John gives him a sideways glance. “Sherlock, if she’s in a new relationship, I’m sure the bloke doesn’t know that much about her yet.”

“How do you know? Maybe he has known her for nearly a decade and things just happened to fall into place for them recently? He could know her pretty damn well.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have to explain the probability of that one to you, Sherlock. It’s not very likely, but...maybe, I guess.”

“Not very likely?? I’ll show you how likely it is, John.”

Sherlock gently pulls Molly close and kisses her lovingly. John’s jaw drops in shock.

Molly turns deep red as they pull away and Sherlock grins brightly. “To elaborate, that would be a probability of one hundred percent, thank you very much. She’s mine, John. Mine. And don’t think for one second that I’d ever let her go again. I was a fool before, but I am enlightened now, and Molly is mine, and I am hers, and that’s the end of. Get it now?”

“Sherlock, I swear to God, if you-”

He cuts him off and looks him straight in the eye. “I won’t hurt her. This isn’t some experiment; this isn’t like Janine. You both have my implicit word. John, when I told Molly those three words in Sherrinford, there was a moment of terrifying realization that I didn’t know what to do with. But I’ve worked through it, and...you were right. Molly completes me as a human being. I can see that now. I was such a blind idiot.”

“So this is real then…you…you’re...together.” He looks between them, still in a state of shock.

Molly blushes but nods. “Yes. We talked through everything, we decided to start with a blank slate and forget the bad parts of the past. But I guess at the same time we started the best part of the future. Sherlock told me he meant it, he told me everything that happened and everything he has ever thought in secret, and I believe him. I know when he’s telling the truth. It’s been going very well the past week.”

John takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Well then...this is a surprise, but I guess I wish you both the best. If anyone can handle you, Sherlock, it's Molly. And Molly, good luck keeping him in line, and if you ever need a hand on setting him straight you know what number to call. You help me take care of my baby, and I’ll help you take care of yours”, he smirks.

“Sounds like a deal”, Molly giggles as Sherlock pouts.

They see John and Rosie out and Sherlock turns to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’m glad you can finally spend the night at my place. Especially now, when it’s all cleaned up and such.”

Molly smiles and kisses him gently on her tiptoes. She takes his hands and strokes over the watch band. “It’s crazy to think that this little old gift gave you the courage to start this brand-new journey of ours.”

“The gift of time. The most appropriate gift you ever gave me. Literally and figuratively, of course. I adore this watch and will never be able to fathom why you spent so much on me, especially back then. But speaking figuratively, time really is the gift you gave me all these years, even without me knowing so. It took me ages to get to this point, and yet you waited for me somehow. Thank you.”

“Well, the watch was just a gesture because I knew that you deserved something nice for all that you do for London’s crime rates. Waiting for you…well, that’s because there was never anyone else. I knew in my mind and in my heart, even in my very soul that it was always you, Sherlock Holmes. Everything within me always told me that it was you.”

“I do my best with the crime rates, though I am just one man. As for you, how about I prove to you that it will always be you from here on out, Doctor Hooper?”

She giggles softly and strokes his jaw. “I think I’d love that. I love you.”

“Mm...I love you too. Step one of having a new girlfriend and a new flat; we must christen the bed”, he winks flirtatiously and scoops her up in his arms, heading down the hallway as their laughs echo through a pristine 221B Baker Street.

“No /time/ like the present!” Molly smirks, the bedroom door closing behind them.

~~~~~~~


End file.
